Balcony Celebrations
by Megara79
Summary: After seven years in the Delta Quadrant and months of debriefings, it's finally time to celebrate. A post-Endgame story. Please take the time to read the warnings!


**Title: Balcony Celebrations  
Author: Megara79  
Series: Star Trek: Voyager  
Rating: M: For explicit sexual content! No offence intended. Story will be removed on complaint.  
Summary: After seven years in the Delta Quadrant and two months of debriefings, it's finally time to celebrate.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**This wouldn't have seen the light of day had it not been for the fabulous Evil Shall Giggle, and her killer beta-abilities. Thank you! **

She's standing on the balcony with an empty champagne glass in her hand and a far off look on her face. She leans against the marble banister and hardly notices as her wrap slides down to expose a shoulder. She breathes in, enjoying the sweet smell of roses that sifts through the warm summer air. The faint sound of music, laughter and people talking can be heard and she smiles to herself as she imagines her crew—her _former_ crew—enjoying the night. Looking over the grounds, she marvels at the size of the estate. She enjoys its Victorian-style feel, but she loves it for its privacy. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, there are no pushy reporters or flashing holo-cameras demanding a piece of their time, a piece of their lives. It's over. They're home, and after two months of debriefings, she can finally relax, knowing that her crew—no, she amends again, her _former_ crew—have been given the unmitigated recognition and praise they so utterly deserve.

The evening breeze ruffles the layers of her chiffon dress, brushing it playfully against her legs. It's black and strapless, hugging her in all the right places before flowing down to her ankles. Her hair is softly twisted at her neck and a couple of auburn strands have escaped to frame her face. She's dead tired, but she's happy and elated and relieved and thrilled, and she smiles at nothing in particular.

She watches the stars and wonders if she'll ever want to travel amongst them again. Right now she's content with having both feet firmly planted on the ground, but she suspects that at some point she'll get bored with being an Admiral and what then? Maybe she'll retire, maybe she'll teach. Maybe she'll return to command another ship. She doesn't really think she will, but the stars are beautiful and she knows that no matter what, she'll miss them.

"So this is where wayward Starfleet Admirals disappear off to when the kids get too rambunctious."

She laughs softly but doesn't turn around. The voice is warm and tinted with humour and she's impressed that he's managed to sneak up on her unnoticed.

"Seems like wayward Starfleet Captains have the same inclination." She hears him chuckle behind her and she cocks her head over her shoulder to look at him. She inhales deeply at the sight and his scent mingles with the roses, offering a new fragrance of musk and spices to the mix. His jacket is gone and his bowtie undone. It makes him look boyish and indescribably handsome, and she sends a quick thank you to whichever deity that chooses to listen, for the lack of uniforms at tonight's festivities.

A crooked grin graces her features, and he's reminded of the first few years of their journey, when the hope of getting home was still fresh within them. He's missed that Kathryn, and he doesn't think she'll ever know how good it feels to have her back. He stares unabashedly, taking in every inch of her, and he loves that she doesn't blush under his scrutiny. Apparently their homecoming has brought a lot of changes with it, and he's glad. "Let the kids have their fun," he says to her. "I just want to be with you."

"A wise choice," she answers light-heartedly, and turns back to watch the gardens, pleased that he came.

He meant what he said; he wants to be with her. He wants to tell her how much these seven years have meant to him, how happy he is that they're home and how proud he is of her. He wants to ask her about her plans, and tell her his own. He wants to take her back to the ballroom and dance with her and he wants to thank her for giving him peace and for being his friend.

But there she is, leaning on the balcony, no longer stifled by responsibility and regulations, and he knows that he wants so much more.

He wants to wake up to her in the morning.

He wants to know what her days are like and he wants to experience them with her. He no longer wants to live next door, he wants to live with her, make love to her and nag her about her coffee habits till they're both old and wrinkly, and he suddenly thinks that if he can't have all of that, he might as well go back to the Delta Quadrant and stay there. Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the dress, maybe it's the euphoria of being home, or maybe it's just about damn time. Whatever it is, he walks up to her, throwing caution to the wind, and makes his move. His hand touches her hip before snaking across her abdomen to pull her towards him. He hears a sharp intake of breath, but she doesn't resist and so he kisses her shoulder.

As it turns out, she wants the same thing he does.

She trembles at the feel of his mouth on her bare skin, but she tilts her head, offering him her neck and she closes her eyes when he accepts the invitation. It's getting harder to think, and a quiet gasp escapes her when he bites down with just enough force. She manages to thank the deities again, this time for making him come to her. She doesn't think she would have been brave enough to make the first move. Seven years is a long time to push someone away, and Seven the woman has a lot to offer. She doesn't think her ego, or her heart, could have taken the rejection if she'd offered herself to him in vain.

She only knows what her future self has told her. She knows that he and Seven married in that time line, but she doesn't know what's happened in her own, and she doesn't really care. He may be many things, this man who is currently making his mark on her, but he's not a cheater, and she knows any attachment he might have had with the girl is over and done with. She briefly wonders if she should feel guilty about that, but his hand brushes up her ribcage while the other still rests on her abdomen, if not a little further down, and she selfishly forgets about Seven. She manages to shove the empty champagne glass onto the railing and away from them, and she suddenly has two hands of her own to use.

Endless possibilities…

Her left hand moves to cover his on her lower abdomen and, shocking herself ever so slightly, she pushes at it. He complies and she smiles, loving that his fingers start to curl around the fabric of her dress in an attempt to find the part of her that has started to throb for him. She briefly wonders if she should be concerned about putting out so easily, but she quickly swats the thought away. She thinks of dinners and bathtubs and roses and warm hands on her shoulder, and she realises that they've been dating for seven years.

And nobody, _nobody_, in the history of dating, has _ever_ waited as long as they have to do what she thinks they're about to.

She lifts her right arm, her hand searching for his face. He's still working on her throat and neck, but when he feels the warmth on his cheek he moves to kiss her palm instead. Still pressed up against him, back to chest, she turns her head towards him and whispers his name, and finally, just as he manages to hit the right spot through the layers of clothing, his lips meets hers. She's thinks that she might just die and she's not even sure she cares, for he tastes like nothing she's ever experienced before and he's got magic fingers. He licks at the curve of her upper lip, nibbling at her while she catches his bottom one between hers. The slow circling movement of whatever finger he's using forces a moan from her and he doesn't waste any time. The kiss deepens and their tongues meet, while his left knee nudges her legs further apart. Another moan is evoked when he strokes her left breast. It amazes her that despite the annoying amount of clothing she's got on, he's still able to make her feel every little detail of his doings. It's intoxicating and it makes her impatient, so she turns in his arms and presses her body against his, wanting to feel him closer. She doesn't even notice the wrap slipping from the other shoulder. It doesn't take long before the warm wind snatches a hold of it and sends it soaring over the railing and down towards the gardens. Some few hours later it'll be found by Tom Paris, who'll conveniently decide, with a grin on his face, to forget who the wrap belongs too and what he suspects might have happened to its owner.

They keep kissing and he cradles her face. She, on the other hand, is on a mission and her hands travel slowly down his chest. She manages to quell the desire to rip his shirt open so she can latch on to a nipple. Though they're alone and away from the main hall, there's nothing to say that someone won't come by, and it'll probably be easier to explain away their compromising positions if his shirt's in one piece. There's also the inevitability of having to leave the party at some point, and she suspects a few eyebrows might be raised if the newly promoted Captain beams home bare-chested. She can't help but giggle at the thought and he breaks away from her for a short moment. He raises a questioning eyebrow but she only shakes her head with delight and enjoys the look on his face as she trails a finger just above the lining of his pants. He shudders and her smile grows.

Before she really knows what's happening, her back is pressed up against one of the balcony pillars. She's thankful, because those previously mentioned positions are much harder to see from here, and she's thinks that the change in placement is a clear sign that she isn't the only one getting impatient. He moves in to kiss her again, and it's his turn to groan in her mouth when she cups his erection.

She's imagined their first time too often to count, but none of those times have entailed the two of them on a marble balcony with more than four hundred people, including her mother, close by and ready to walk in on them at any minute. She could suggest beaming to his or her place and continue this there. They both know what's about to happen and there's no doubt that the safer option would be to—well—, do it, behind closed doors. But this is deliciously naughty and the warm wind against her bare shoulders mixed with the knowledge that they can be seen just adds to her desire and she quietly decides that if they are to move, the initiative has to be his. He doesn't seem in a rush to go anywhere either.

Taking her hands in his, he pushes away from her. "I'm not going to last long if you keep touching me like that." He's struggling to keep his breath even, eyes dark and a slightly sheepish smile on his lips, and she can't help but tease him for his lack of control.

"And here I thought that legendary patience of yours was sure to come in handy."

"Considering I've been lusting after you for seven years, you should be happy you're participating at all," he answers theatrically and she bites her lip in amusement, secretly thrilled to be participating as well.

He shifts closer, smirking at her, then grabs at her dress and all joking is suddenly put aside. She sucks in a breath of air and her eyes flicker towards the hand that is carefully inching the material upwards. Her heart is beating uncomfortably fast and, rather unexpectedly, she feels nervous. When the hand makes contact with her thigh, her eyes snap back to his and every coherent thought seems to slip away. Nervousness, schmervousness. He strokes her thigh; trailing God knows what pattern across it, further and further up until he manages to hook his index finger under the waistline of her panties. Using his other arm to tug her away from the pillar, he pulls at the material and after a little work it slides down and falls to the ground. She just manages to step out of it before he pushes her back against the pillar, one hand still under the dress, the other secured around her waist. She decides that, though probably not becoming of an Admiral, her body has started to ache for him and she's had enough foreplay.

She reaches for him, catching a hold of the lining of his pants and he utters a strangled something-or-other when she tugs at his shirt and makes contact with the skin of his lower abdomen. His hand on her hip is slowly making its way to her behind and though she knows why, she can't help but wonder why they haven't done this sooner. Impatience rears its head again, and she quickly forgets about his stomach and starts on his zipper instead. She fumbles slightly, but manages to get to where she wants to be, and lo-and-behold, another strangled something-or-other escapes him when her hand moves inside and catches a hold of him. Though he's told her not to, she can't help but stroke him before pulling him out and towards her. The arm around her waist goes to push her dress away and she can't help but be a little bit impressed when he, with the other arm, manages to lift her right leg, and push inside her at the same time.

Oh. Dear. God!

Her eyes widen and she fights the urged to cry out in pleasure. He waits, allowing her to adjust to him and though it stings, she loves the feel of him inside her and she twines the lifted leg partly around him to pull him deeper. They both stare at each other and her lip is treated to another bite as he slowly starts to move within her. His rhythm is steady but careful and she appreciates the gesture considering it's been awhile. His eyes never leave hers and she can feel his ragged breath on her face. She suspects that he can feel hers as well. As the tension builds within her, she finds it harder and harder to breathe evenly, and she's glad she's pressed up against the pillar, for at this point she's not sure she can manage to stand on her own. She feels deprived whenever he moves out of her and her body reacts by tightening around him whenever he pulls away. His pace quickens as he pushes into her, and her back arches as the tension builds even further. A thumb all of a sudden touches her and it hits its mark with uncanny precision. It strokes her again and again, and she knows she's about to come. She manages to think that she'll never let him do this to anyone but her ever again, before a stroke and a thrust send her over the edge, and she pulls at him, burying her scream in his shoulder. She spasms around him, and he's pulled over the edge with her and the sensation of him coming inside her makes it all the better. They hold at each other, riding out their orgasms, her mouth on his neck now, while his is pressed against her hair.

When the final trembles subside, he slowly pulls out of her. "Not too bad for an old man," he pants rather smugly as he lowers her leg back down, and her sated laughter bubbles through the night air. He looks at her with mock indignation, but grins when she moves in to kiss him.

"Not bad indeed." she murmurs, lips still on his. Her body is tingling, but the muscles in her legs and back are protesting wildly at what she's just put them through. "Ungh…" she winces. "Balcony pillars should have an age limit on them."

"Maybe we should try the bed next time?"

Next time?

Woohooo!

"I didn't say that," she raises an eyebrow suggestively and he chortles.

Stepping away from her, he can't help but think that this party might just be one of the best ones he's ever been too. Bending down, he snatches a hold of her panties before doing up his trousers. "Consider it down payment on the breakfast I plan on cooking for you tomorrow," he says humorously, showing her the underwear, then putting it in his pocket.

She quirks an eyebrow and tries to hide the upward tug of her lips, pleasantly stirred by the prospect of going commando for the rest of the night. "You're being a bit presumptuous, don't you think?"

"Am I, Captain?"

"That's Admiral to you, mister." The banter is easy and teasing, and she remembers how much she's missed it.

He smiles and takes her hand. "Semantics. And it's not like I've heard you object."

"No, you haven't," she admits with a content sigh. Like she ever would! They start walking back towards the main hall, and before she knows it, the words tumble out of her. "I love you." She's almost afraid of his response, though heaven knows she has no reason to be.

"It's about damn time," he replies, and her laughter bubbles through the night air anew.


End file.
